


Starfire at the Bottom of a Bottle

by prettyboyangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:52:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyangel/pseuds/prettyboyangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Cas falls, he doesn't have quite the same alcohol tolerance as before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starfire at the Bottom of a Bottle

The first time Cas gets drunk, it's not on purpose. It's a few weeks after the angels have fallen, his adjustment to human life progressing but not complete. He has his own toothbrush, his own set of clothes folded in the drawers of his new room, favorite foods, and a particular seat at the dinner table. He starts every morning with a cup or two of coffee that Sam has taught him how to make himself, from beans that he accompanies Dean to the store to buy. He joins Sam and Dean when they visit local bars, and when he drinks, he feels it.

At first, he would limit himself to two drinks, not liking the way his limbs would loosen and his legs would wobble with more. He also couldn't ignore the pained looks Dean would shoot him when he ordered anything alcoholic, though he still didn't understand their cause. But tonight is different. 

Tonight he's at the bar alone. He had told Sam and Dean he was just going for a walk, after they had gotten back from the hunt and patched each other up. They could tell something was off, his body humming with nervous energy as he paced up and down the small room. He hadn't been able to look at Dean, the sharp stab of guilt at the bruises on his face and the labored rise and fall of his breathing too strong. Dean had been caught off-guard while they were taking down the spirit, thrown into a bookcase that had then fallen on top of him with a heart-stopping crash. Sam and Cas had struggled to lift the bookcase off of him, and when they finally got him free Cas had reached out two fingers to heal him before he remembered he could no longer do so, at which point the pain and guilt proved too much for him to handle. He had been silent and distant since, retreating further within himself until he couldn't contain it anymore, the walls of the dingy motel room closing in around him. And when he told them he was going for a walk, it wasn't entirely a lie; he /had/ walked down to the bar, he just hadn't told them it was his destination. 

After his first drink, whiskey that doesn't go down as easily as he remembers it used to, Cas lets his eyes wander, taking in the few gruff patrons scattered throughout the bar. After his second, he smiles back at the bartender when she winks at him. His third, fourth, and fifth pass without notice, nothing but the warm burn of the alcohol down his throat and into his blood to remind him of their existence. He finds he quite likes the warmth, the buzz of liquor in his veins, the slight haze around his mind, making many things fuzzy and others sharper than they'd ever been. He finds himself chasing the feeling, the steady burn of the alcohol through his system a poor imitation of the power of grace strumming under the delicate skin of his vessel. It reminds him of all he was, and all he has lost, and that feeling carries him through drinks six and seven.

As he sets the glass back down on the counter in front of him, he realizes his hand is trembling slightly and, more importantly, his bladder is unpleasantly full. He stands on shaky legs and manages to make his way to the restroom, bumping into a few stools but not causing any real damage. He relieves himself and makes it back to his stool without incident, the noise of the bar a faint hum in the background of his mind. The bartender has concern in her eyes when he waves her over for another.

"Bud, I think you're done for the night," she says gently, patting his arm and giving him a sad smile, "there anyone I can call to come and get you?" Cas squints at her, head cocked to the side. 

"No, 'salright," he slurs, "I can walk back, 'snot far." The bartender shakes her head at him, grabbing his arm as he moves to get off his stool

"Oh no you don't," she chuckles, "you're in no position to be walking around alone. Now gimme your phone, I'm calling you a ride." Cas reluctantly hands over his phone. The bartender clicks through his contact list. "Bobby?" Cas shakes his head, eyes dropping to his hands resting in his lap, "Dean?" 

Cas starts to nod but then his head jerks up and, eyes wide, starts shaking his head frantically.

"No no no no no not Dean don't call Dean," he panics, words rushing over themselves on his drunk tongue, "he's hurt and he needs to sleep and he doesn't like it when I drink I don't know why but he always looks so sad and I don't- I can't make him sad anymore." He finishes and holds the bartender's gaze, begging her to understand, with such sorrow in his eyes she can't help but nod and move on to the next name.

"Sam?"

Cas considers her for a moment before giving a hesitant nod. She presses the button to call him, and a few seconds later is murmuring quietly into the phone, turned away from Cas so he can't hear what she's saying, but towards him enough that she can keep an eye on him. Cas fiddles with a stray thread on his pants, new jeans that already look old and worn. He wonders if his vessel - body - looks the same way. 

The bartender ends the call and passes the phone back to Cas. "He'll be here in five minutes," she smiles at him, "I'm gonna get you a glass of water. Don't you move, 'kay?" He nods as she strides down to the other end of the empty bar, returning quickly with a glass of cool water. Cas drinks down a few mouthfuls before setting it on the counter.

"Thank you," he says slowly, taking care to slur his words as little as possible, "thank you for watching over me." A twinge of sadness rushes through him at his choice of words, but he knows they are the right one. The bartender gives him a sad smile and covers his hands with hers.

"You look like you could use someone to take care of you for a bit," she confesses, "plus I wanted to make sure you got home safe."He smiles at her gratefully as she picks up a rag and starts wiping down the counter. A few moments later, at the sound of the door, she glances up, "That Sam?"

Cas turns on his stool, swaying a bit with the movement, to see Sam striding towards him. He doesn't look angry, as Cas expected, but the creases between his eyes betray his worry. Another wave of guilt crashes over Cas; he had never meant to make Sam worry.

"Cas, man, there you are!" Sam calls as he approaches the bar.

"Sam," Cas nods, tipping a bit to one side. Sam grabs his shoulder to steady him.

"Whoa, alright there, let's get you home," he chuckles, amusement still colored with concern evident on his face. Sam smiles at the bartender and thanks her for watching out for Cas, and the next thing Cas knows he's in the passenger seat of the Impala and they're driving.

"Warn me if you're gonna puke and I'll pull over," Sam murmurs from the driver's seat, "Dean'll kill us both if you do it in the car." Cas nods and leans his head against the window, bumps in the road sending jarring shocks through his skull. He groans and leans to the other side, his head falling on Sam's shoulder, where he promptly falls asleep.

He wakes up to a hand on his shoulder, shaking him back into reality.

"C'mon man let's get you inside," Sam's voice is quiet but insistent, tugging him unwillingly into consciousness. Cas pulls himself out of the car and stumbles into the motel room, falling gracelessly onto one of the beds as Sam locks the door. He wrangles his way out of his coat and kicks off his shoes, crawling up and tucking himself in next to the warm body already occupying the bed. He hears Sam's chuckle from the other side of the room but is too tired to care. He can already tell he'll have a killer headache in the morning, but right now all he wants to do is sleep. 

"Hey, Cas, you sure you wanna sleep there?" Sam's voice filters through the fog of sleep surrounding Cas's mind, keeping him from unconsciousness. He knows he probably should get out of this bed and go sleep on the couch, since they've been rotating beds and couches since he fell, but he can't bring himself to move. Instead, he curls closer to Dean, close enough to feel the warmth of his body, heavy with sleep under the blankets. 

"Cas?" Dean rasps, "Wha's goin' on? Smells like booze."

At the sound of Dean's voice, the dam breaks, all of the guilt and pain building up inside Cas all night comes rushing out in a choked sob and a hand clenched in Dean's shirt.

"I'm sorry I'm so sorry I should've been able to heal you but I can't you're hurt and I can't do anything about it you could've died and I wouldn't - I'm useless Dean I'm so sorry I -" He gasps, tears spilling down his cheeks onto the pillow. Dean takes Cas's shaking hands in his and pulls Cas closer, closer than they've ever been. He tucks Cas's head underneath his chin and runs a hand up and down his back, shushing him. 

"Shh, buddy, 'sokay. 'm okay. Go to sleep." Dean presses a sleepy kiss to the top of Cas's head and Cas stills, snuffling quietly, "we'll talk bout it in t'morning. You're okay." He pulls his arm tighter around Cas, pulling him even more snug against his chest, and quickly falls asleep again. Cas focuses on the steady rhythm of Dean's breaths, his chest rising and falling under Cas's cheek, and lets that lull him to sleep as well.


End file.
